The Most Beautiful Person
by Anis Miarie
Summary: Yuuri enters a writing competition on the Summer's End Festival. The question was " Describe the most beautiful person in your life" This is my first & experimental fiction, please be kind.


"Describe the most beautiful person in your life"

Yuuri looked at the paper blankly. "Is that even a question?" he monologues. Nevertheless, he answered the question with all his heart.

A few hours later,under the scorching sun, Wolfram was holding the parchment that Yuuri used to enter the contest in his sweaty palms. The Summers End Festival had been great this year, the contest went out smoothly, and this will be the final entry. As the moderator, he was supposed to read every contestant's writings out loud, and let the majority to decide whose the best writing is. So far, he had read things that had put a deep crimson tone on his cheeks and some of the most impossible things that people could ever see in a person. Who in the both worlds could ever think that warts are beautiful? Okay, he was being inconsiderate but honestly, warts? Beautiful? Really?

But this one, is the love of his life's. And their king. This means everthing to everyone now. Who will the wimp write about? Hopefully it is him,but that is highly unlikely. Maybe he wrote of his mother, or maybe going as far as writing about Celi. He was starting to get fuzzy with the image of beautiful women that Yuuri could have probably written of so he took a deep breath and opened the folded paper.

The first thing that he notice was that Yuuri's handwriting had become better over the years, the writing was written in a tight looping style, just like how he had taught him to. He exhaled his breath, and started to read it.

"To describe someone as the most beautiful person is my life would surely be very praising. As a king, many people had crossed my life, each with a beautifully significant aspect in my life. I believe that it may cause uproar due to intense envy and jealousy to pinpoint who is the most beautiful person in my entire life. However, it is my duty as the leader of my kind, and this kingdom, to uphold this festive tradition, and answer this question with all my heart.

I shall not be writing names, as I don't want my beloved citizens to feel down casted, at least not until the end. So in this, I will be addressing this exquisite person as Angel, with the pronoun of thy.

Angel's real name shouts valour and dignity. This maybe because who thy mother was. A warrior for the country, the barrier of the ugly. But what's in a name? Everything, of course. Thy name describes thy whole being, thy beauty and thy wisdom.

Angel's eyes were the colour of the world. Thy eyes had the deep colour of the woods, yet bared resemblance to the deepest of the sea. One thing for sure, Angel's eyes would smile like the sun, and twinkle like the stars, every time thy would feel the similes of joy.

Angel's hair was the colour that graces the lands every morning. Bright and warm. The strands were smooth and light, like the rivulets off a waterfall, as if it was spun of gold.

Angel's smiles were that of the god's. If I wasn't careful, I would have said that thy smile could rival the whole beauty of Amarantha, whose goddess's portrait still hung on the walls of the blood palace. And yet, I do believe that your smile is exceptionally more stunning. The smile that had brought the dead to life, and had brought the unborn to the world. The smile of a mother, the smile of a wise man, the smile of a winning man, they all summed up in the small purse of plum lips that I deem as my forbidden fruit.

Angel's voice was that of the birds, of the blowing winds, of the wash of the waves. The voice that brings purity and serenity, yet a voice that screams ethereal. A voice that at times could put a baby to sleep, yet at times could shake the thunder. Thy voice was of the stars, not match for any other.

Angel was of strong born. Thy played with dangerous magik and yet had learnt their lessons, as thy had seen the promise of death. In thy veins, flows the strength of ruby. Thy unbreakable bones were of the stardusts, and thy soul came from the very core of the galaxy herself. Such was the beauty that even the Milky Way nor Orna could never rival.

Angel's intelligence was never much appreciated. For thy mind was cornered by infamously cunning persons. However in that soft pale skin, there's knowledge that I will always envy. The knowledge that he knew how to possess me, yet not I thy.

Angel had learned to dance with the winds. The soft blues and blows would follow as thy gracious feet made the earth yearns for thy. How soft was thy body, to be able to make the dancing trees green and the howling birds sing? I believe that the answer is in that solid love of thy heart.

This maybe short for those who are trying to understand my passion for angel, but it had been long for me. To write of someone so extraordinary that I need to make sure that the words I use would describe thy beauty as it actually is. To describe thy beauty, Wolfram von Bielefeld Shibuya, as my entire world.

Listen those near and far, I had given you a queen of great perfection, for a flawed king as I. I will soon give an heir, which will be brought up in our ways, and the worlds so that even more beauty can grace even the blackest part of the world. For this is my writing of the most beautiful person in my entire life, and my whole wide world."

Wolfram put down the paper to have his husband's eyes right in front of him. The goofy smile of the monarch making its way to Wolfram's heart.

"When did you start writing so greatly?" he choked out, tears brimming in his eyes. Yuuri smiled brighter.

"I did wrote you countless letters, didn't I?" he pulled Wolfram close, careful not to harm the big lump in front of the lithe body, "not to mention the marriage vows." He kissed the soft cheeks as they tinted crimson.

"We're in public, wimp," Wolfram whispered. Yuuri chuckled, "as we had been and will always be". He led Wolfram to their seat s in front of the crowd. The wind is blowing now, cooling all of Blood Pledge's Castle occupants that day with its soft breeze.

Yuuri watched as the host took the stage and started to call on performances. When he got that question, there was nothing else in his mind but Wolfram. And since he knew that Wolfram would be the moderator, he decided to give him a gift. He looked at the beauty by his side, and to the bulge of his stomach, 'since he had given me one'.

Yuuri was crowned as the winner of the contest, since so many of his subjects adored the way he wrote of his husband, of course. But at the end of the day, he finally realised that the prize didn't mean anything to him, for he had the best prize in his entire life, Wolfram von Bielefeld Shibuya.


End file.
